Many have asked how I got my wife to game. I don’t know how it is for others, but among my friends, there are only two kinds of couples: Mixed couples with one gamer…
…and BATTLE COUPLES, RAWR!
We’re a battle couple. We’ve played MMOs together. Platformers. Band games. Puzzle games. RPGs. Cards. Boards. Strategy. Despite our introversion, our BATTLE COUPLE status is the envy of friends whose partner (for unfathomable reasons) does. Not. Game.
Worse, the Muggle determines all shared activities, insisting that the gamer watch tv during family time, but the Gamer can never ask the reverse (for the Muggle to join in gaming). It’s one-sided. Personally, I think both parties should make sacrifices.
Their stories are familiar and heartbreaking: The raid cut short because your partner was irritated. Leveling slower than your friends because the honey-do list (intentionally?) leaves no time for play. Audible nagging in Ventrilo’s background.
They all ask the same question: “How did you get your wife to game?”
That is, I didn’t marry a nongamer and then change her mind. (Is that possible?)
I married a gamer. Since another gamer was present when we discovered Megan, I did what any honorable gamer should:
I called dibs.
Early her Freshman year, I found Megan in the hallway outside my apartment, sitting on the floor, looking forlorn. She awaited her boyfriend, my next door neighbor. I invited her inside, insisting that my sofa would be more comfy than the floor; she accepted. My friend Jake was also over.
Once inside, awkward silence ensued. “I haven’t entertained a girl in a long time,” I confessed. “I’ve no idea what to do. But tell me what you’d like, I’ll make it happen.”
Megan perused my living room with a mysterious expression. Was she judging my décor? Crappy furniture? Was she impressed by the big tv? That’s twenty-seven inches of wasted paycheck, baby! (What do you mean, “compensating”?)
Finally, she paused at the Nintendo. “Let me see which Gamecube games you have.” My heart soared. I showed her the alphabetized shelf. She selected, “The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker.” (Under “L” if you must know.) I tempered my excitement. Could be a fluke. Could be a guess. Coincidence. Surely a beautiful woman wouldn’t come to my apartment and play a ZELDA game. Too good to be true.
Jake and I watched, enthralled as she inserted the disc started a new game and came at last to the character naming screen, all without help. Didn’t ask a single question.
When she entered, “Link” for the familiar green-clad hero, Jake and I exchanged glances.
I said, “Dibs.”
Jake said, “Dammit.”
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